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Seteth knew, perhaps too late, that Rhea was beyond saving.
Seiros was… terrifying. She had terrified him all those years ago, when she’d led an army against Nemesis’ band of murderers, but this was unlike anything he had ever seen. At least, a thousand years ago, her anger and hatred had been focused. Polished. She had her sights set on Nemesis, and once he was dead, all of that negative energy had gone as quickly as it’d come.
This, though—This would not come and go quietly, or instantly, or without pain. “Rhea” as the monastery had known her had completely and utterly vanished overnight, replaced by an always awake, always armored Seiros. She lingered in the hallways like a ghost, scaring students and staff who were rushing to evacuate in the dead of night, when no patrol of Edelgard’s might see them. As Seteth packed away his office, he could hear her laughing softly, brokenly, from somewhere not far away: as if she were remembering a much happier time.
He was loath to remain at the monastery so long in the face of such misfortune; he didn’t want Flayn embroiled in another war, fearing that Seiros’ maddening state would end much worse for them than their first war had. Almost as overnight as she had transformed, shedding ‘Rhea’ like a reptilian skin, Seteth had lost almost all his faith, all his trust, in the only other family he had left.
The only family, he supposed, except for Flayn and… and Byleth.
Byleth.
He would not forget that stalwart stare. Her sword raised at Rhea. The shock, the awe, and the absolutely unadulterated adoration that had shone bare upon Edelgard’s face when her Professor had chosen her.
Seteth had spent the first few days so, so angry. It had taken him too long, though, to understand that this anger was not for Byleth’s betrayal of the Church. No, with Seiros’ worsening state, all of his hope for the Church had gone.
He was beginning to face the harder truth, that Byleth, whom he had grown so close to, had not chosen them.
Had not chosen him.
Was he foolish to imagine that there had been something between the two of them? All of their quiet tea times, their notes passed between one another between classes and meetings, their fishing lessons at sunset… Had they all just meant nothing to her?
Flayn had not taken the Professor’s defection well, either. She did not wish to leave their shared room, nor speak to him at all about how she was feeling. She would not dress, would not rise from the loveseat near the window, and would barely eat the meals he brought her. Seteth was growing more and more concerned by the day.
She had been close to Edelgard, too. She had lost her classmates overnight. It broke Seteth’s heart to imagine what his daughter must have been going through—must have been keeping to herself.
And, as Seteth struggled to keep what remained of the two of them afloat, it was announced that a small Adrestian force had set up camp at the foot of the hill: perhaps a day, perhaps even less, away from mounting an assault. The gradual evacuation that had begun just a few days ago became a mass exodus.
Seteth knew that the only thing for them to do was leave. He could not fight for Seiros. He refused to stay and find himself and Flayn the Empire’s captives. While Flayn remained stuck, weighed down by her sadness, he did his best to pack up their belongings.
Seiros appeared in the doorway that night, eyes bulging with fear or anger: Seteth couldn’t decide which. He had no idea what had clued her in to his anticipated absence, nor when she had decided to stand like a ghost upon their stoop.
“You cannot leave me,” she said, her voice low and slow.
Seteth made himself a barrier between her and entering their flat. “I did not sign up for your rage again, Rhea.”
She stiffened. “My name is Seiros.”
“Yes, I gathered that. I refuse to fight your war again. I will not lose Flayn again, I will not force her to stand against people she cares about.” He swallowed. “I refuse to stand against people I care about.”
“You are my brother, Cichol,” she argued. “You promised to be there for me.”
“Cichol is gone. I have put him on a shelf. I do not know you this way, Rhea, and I will not entertain such foolishness.”
He shut the door on her. She cried, howled, shook the knob, and Seteth did his best not to hear it. Not to feel any more broken than he already did.
Flayn, meanwhile, barely even stirred.
He made it no secret that they were leaving after that. Though he packed up Flayn and their belongings in the dead of night, soldiers bustled about, readying for an attack. In the safety of his mind, he said goodbye to the place he had so grown to love. The library, the shining spires of the Goddess Tower, the lovely cathedral in which he had spent so many afternoons.
He would mourn for it all later; mourn for it when, perhaps, they had gone far enough away to let the silence and the sadness set in.
Flayn solemnly climbed into the wyvern’s saddle, wrapped up in a blanket, and Seteth packed their bags around her to keep her safe and secure. Amidst all of the baggage, Flayn simply looked like another parcel.
“You can rest like that, dear,” he murmured as he led the wyvern out of the stables. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to fly.”
Flayn hummed a soft, sad, “Thank you, Father.”
With the Adrestians at the foot of the hill, Seteth figured that it would be safer to walk to the outskirts of the monastery, beneath the cover of the woods, and then take off when they were out of range. He couldn’t risk being shot down.
Catherine stopped him at the gates. “Can I change your mind?”
“No,” he said, looking away from her. “I am sorry.”
Catherine smiled sadly. “Take care, then. I hope to see you safe one day, when this is all over.”
Seteth did not respond. He could not foresee a future in which they would happily meet again.
The walk out of the monastery, through the woods, was solemn and sad. Flayn whimpered a little, audibly holding back tears. For her sake, he sang a soft song to try to quell her a bit.
“Oh, I see, I see the great mountains, oh, I see, I see the lofty mountains, oh, I see, I see the corries.”
Flayn looked at him with wide eyes. When was the last time he sang for her?
“I see the peaks beneath the mist. I see, straight away, the place of my birth; I will be welcomed in a language which I understand.” He swallowed, the words making knots in his throat. “I will receive hospitality and love when I reach there, that I would not trade for—”
A figure rose out of the underbrush. Seteth stopped in his tracks, the song catching in his throat.
No. No.
“Seteth.” It was Byleth who stepped out of the shadows. The Sword of the Creator hung limply from her hand, scoring the ground as she came toward them. The sound of his name from her mouth made his knees feel weak. “I’m so glad I found you before anyone else did.”
“Stay back,” he said, his voice breaking on the last word.
“Seteth.” Byleth, beautiful and terrible in her black Assassin’s armor, put down her sword. “I do not want to fight you, Seteth.”
He swallowed. “I will not be taken as a prisoner.”
“I did not come to try to capture you,” she said. Byleth slid to her knees, hands up in the air. “I want you to come with me.”
His breath caught. “I… I do not understand.”
“I will not leave you here,” Byleth told him, her voice so soft that it sent tremors down his shoulder blades. “You will be safe with me. You will be under my protection.”
Flayn’s tiny voice rose from Saint’s saddle. “...Professor?”
“Flayn,” Byleth said, relief in her voice. “Flayn, come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
Seteth stretched his hand out behind him, a poor attempt to keep Byleth from coming any closer to his daughter. “Edelgard wishes us gone, does she not?”
“There is so much you don’t know. So much I will tell you,” Byleth responded. “Edelgard does not wish what you think. She has been through so much, and she will accept you on my instruction. I swear to you, you will be safe with us.”
“Professor?”
Byleth’s eyes became wide. With almost inhuman speed, she sprang up from the ground, her sword steady in her hand, and as Seteth reached for his spear…
Hubert von Vestra emerged from the trees. And Byleth was standing in front of the two of them.
Protecting them from the Emperor’s right hand.
Hubert chuckled darkly, miasma forming in his graceful gloved hand. “I see you’ve found someone.”
Byleth… would fight her own students? For them?
For him?
“I’ve already spoken to Edelgard about my wishes,” Byleth said. “Seteth and Flayn are under my protection, regardless of whether or not they wish for it.”
“Oh? Lady Edelgard did not inform me about this,” Hubert replied.
Byleth responded, a smile in her voice, “My apologies, that Edelgard does not share every private conversation with you. I know how deeply such things bother you.”
“I do adore your sardonics,” Hubert said. “So. How do the Church dogs plead?”
“I do not need to be condescended to,” Seteth chimed. “I am not a child.”
“You are free to leave, and you will not be hurt,” Byleth said quickly. “I will not search for you. I will not ask you to fight for us. We will never see each other again, I promise you.”
Seteth could feel his heart in his throat. Flayn, beside him, quietly whimpered, “No.”
“Or… You can come with us.” Byleth extended her hand. “I will never let anyone hurt you. You do not even have to join our ranks. But I will make sure that you are safe and that you are happy.”
Flayn was trying to rise from the saddle.
“Please, Seteth,” Byleth begged. Her green eyes were so… so full of love. “Please trust me. I don’t want to lose you.”
Hubert scoffed at that, turning his back on them, but Seteth was caught in Byleth’s expression. Her lovely face.
Looking into those eyes… he did feel safe. He felt, for even just a moment, that at her side, things might be okay.
Perhaps, long ago, he had already mourned and grieved for Rhea. Was that why it suddenly felt so easy to let her go?
To look to the future?
Maybe it was a poor gamble. Maybe it was ill-fated. But if it would improve Flayn’s condition, if it meant for even a second that he could have Byleth and some sense of normalcy back… If it meant that he could rid himself of the weight sitting, crushing, upon his chest and engendering the constant want to cry… he would do it.
He took her hand.